Makers of Fine Wands
by emibabie
Summary: There's a lot to live up to as the only competent heir to the ancient family business, and although Dorothea Ollivander certainly knows a lot about wandlore; she can't help the spirit of adventure that keeps pulling her away from her grandfather's traditions and into trouble.


Prologue

Thea was playing with the cat when she heard the shop bell tingle for the 26th time that morning. It was the end of July so the store would only get busier in the lead up to September, it was like this every year. She stood up quietly from the sunken old armchair and tip toed through the stacks of shelves until she reached her spying corner.  
There was a gap perfectly aligned (and maintained by her) between the boxes, where she could watch the front counter and see her grandfather work. It was always interesting to see the people coming in, almost always children going into their first year, and guess which wand would choose them. Merlin knows there was little else to do once she'd spent her pocket money and the other shopkeeper's children were busy.  
Since she was able to clutch a bit of wood in her hand Thea's grandfather had taught her about wandmaking; what every type of sapling would grow to become, how to carve the shapes of handles and insert every core. Though the woodwork would keep her busy in the boring months of term-time, Thea's favourite part to learn was always what the method meant. From finicky and sensitive acacia to the rare and dark yew - unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, phoenix feather - each wand held an entire cheat sheet to a witch or wizard's true makings. She doubted she'd ever have the patience to make wands herself, but the theory was one of the few topics that held her attention long. Thea knew once she got to Hogwarts herself, she'd remember every upperclassman she'd witnessed her grandfather sell a wand to, and remember what each of them were made of.

The boy that entered the shop was accompanied by a giant man, Thea knew she'd seen him around the alley before, and vaguely remembered that he was a staff member of some sort, hired by Dumbledore despite his parentage (she assumed one of his parents must've been a giant at least). The children who came in usually had a proud or nervous parent at their side, not a teacher, so she guessed the boy must be a muggleborn; he certainly looked uncertain enough to assume that all of this was very foreign to him.  
The half-giant sat down on her favourite spindly chair and she winced as the metal groaned under his weight.  
As the pair of them waited in silence she felt acutely aware of the magic all around them, it was easy to get used to it spending half the day curled up with a book at the back, but to a muggleborn especially... She could almost hear the wands singing from inside a thousand little boxes.  
Thea held back a giggle after all three of them jumped as her grandfather popped into view. He was a slight and soft old man, dressed in heavy robes that would've seemed comically oversized if he didn't hold himself so regally.  
"Hello," the boy said a little awkwardly, and as he spoke Thea smiled, for she could tell already he would have an interesting wand. "Ah yes," Her grandfather replied in a tone of pleased familiarity, and that intrigued her, for the boy didn't look like he was from a recognisable family, and she'd certainly never seen him in the shop before.  
"Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." Thea's interest was piqued, there was no child who knew the word muggle who didn't know that name, and though she felt almost surprised that he looked so ordinary, she concluded that that was in the end why he was famous. A perfectly ordinary boy; only a year older than her, who had managed to defeat the world's most feared dark wizard.  
"You have your mother's eyes." Her grandfather continued, "It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." Thea could see how Harry's eyes lit up at the mention of his mother, and she felt her heart pang a little.  
Where had he been all these years? Her grandfather had only ever said he must be being raised out of the spotlight, well he was in it now if he was here, and though Thea knew the feeling of missing her parents, well, missing the idea of having parents, she couldn't imagine what it must be like for him to be thrown into the life of a celebrity.  
Her grandfather stepped closer to the boy as he spoke, "Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course." She nearly laughed again at the sight of the two almost nose to nose, grandfather could get quite enthused talking about his wands. "And that's where..." He extended a long pale finger to softly touch where she knew a lightning bolt marked Harry Potter's forehead, and she saw the boy's eyes widen slightly. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,' he said ashamedly. 'Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands ... Well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do ..."  
Thea had never heard that story, and her grandfather was always telling tales of the greatest wands he'd sold, she supposed dark greatness wasn't so gladly recalled. Her grandfather shook his head in thought before turning and noticing the enormous man sitting by the window, "Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again ... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?" "It was, sir, yes." Mr Hagrid replied, "Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" Thea frowned slightly; had he been expelled from Hogwarts? Yet he worked there now? Dumbledore was a forgiving man she reasoned, at least her grandfather had told her so. "Er – yes, they did, yes," he answered awkwardly, and Thea heard her chair squeak under him, "I've still got the pieces, though." he added brightly. "But you don't use them?" It was funny to hear her grandfather use his stern voice on a man perhaps four times his size, "Oh, no, sir." said Mr Hagrid rather quickly. "Hmmm... Well, now – Mr Potter. Let me see."  
Grandfather pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket, and Thea leaned closer to her spying gap again, "Which is your wand arm?" "Er – well, I'm right-handed,' said Harry. It seemed he didn't know many wizarding terms, was it possible that the Harry Potter had somehow been raised by muggles...?  
"Hold out your arm. That's it." Her grandfather measured the boy from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand." It was a fairly typical explanation that he tended to give to muggleborns and the more curious among his customers, and Thea was distracted for a moment by Nox rubbing up against her leg. "-Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."  
She snapped her head back up to watch him take the wand in question from its box nervously. Beech for those wise beyond their years, unsuited to the narrow-minded, her grandfather never offered one to a customer he hasn't taken a liking to, she supposed after all the 'chosen one' had been through he must be a deep thinker. Dragon heartstring of course the most powerful but temperamental of cores.  
Harry took the wand and waved it around a bit, but her grandfather snatched it out of his hand almost at once. "Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try-" Thea had barely a moment to note that maple was the adventurers wood before it too was grabbed back, "No, no – here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

They went through woods for the generous, independent, strong, reserved, her grandfather even offered a fir wand, or 'survivors wood' which she thought might be fitting, but none worked, and she could tell Harry was growing frustrated. But both she and her grandfather only began to smile the higher Harry's pile of discarded wands grew.  
"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." Thea felt the silent confidence in her grandfather's voice this time; holly was notoriously difficult to craft with phoenix feather, she knew her great grandfather had lost a couple fingers in trying when he was a scholar still, holly for protection, but also for those on a lifelong quest, and phoenix feather; her personal favourite core, innovative, individual and incomparable in their range of magical ability.  
As Harry took this last wand she felt the surge of warm magic even from the back of the store, and the boy raised it with a sudden confidence, swishing down through the dusty air, a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls.  
Mr Hagrid whooped and clapped, and her grandfather cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good." She resisted the urge to applaud but couldn't hide her grin, "Well, well, well... How curious... how very curious..." Her grandfather trailed off, and this time she nudged Nox away as the cat tried to get her attention.  
He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious..." Thea was almost ready to call out herself when Harry interjected, "Sorry, but what's curious?" Her grandfather turned and fixed him with a stare.  
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar." Thea felt a shiver run down her spine and she saw Harry gulp, though she knew he didn't understand what that connection meant in full. Well, even her grandfather didn't know what brother wands meant in full; it was a topic he'd studied in detail before she was born, but so much of magic was a mystery even to wizards like Dumbledore.  
"Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter... After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great." Thea swallowed and felt how heavy the air around them had become, how many of these wands after all, had fired spells and lost owners to the Great War?  
She felt disappointed that Harry looked so apprehensively at her grandfather as he paid his seven galleons and left, though she knew his flair for the dramatic could be overwhelming at times.  
Expect great things... Thea couldn't help but be even more excited for when she would finally get to choose her own wand and go to Hogwarts, alongside Harry Potter himself, next year.


End file.
